Fire and Ice and Rosemary Tea
by Waiting.At.The.End
Summary: Sigurður works at a coffee shop and he finds himself being persistently courted by a certain Arthur Kirkland.


The first time he came in, he ordered tea. Not that it was a problem, seeing as most coffee shops served tea these days anyway (which could historically probably be attributed to grade-A bitching by the likes of him).

Sigurður rang up the other's order of Earl Grey nonchalantly, not bothering to ask his name and scribbling 'Arthur Kirkland' on the cup instead. He passed it back to a coworker, silently congratulating himself for not having written 'Arthur MAJOR WANKER Kirkland.' It wouldn't have been his finest moment.

The store was almost empty by then, since Sigurður had the shift right before closing time, and usually he would be enjoying the lull in activity, maybe using the downtime to have a quiet chat with Tino Väinämöinen. But his routine just had to be rudely interrupted by Arthur Kirkland, because Sigurður was never allowed to catch a break was he.

He spent a good while moping behind the register, half-expecting Arthur to come up and talk to him—talk _at _him, rather—and fearing that he would have to spend the rest of his shift trying not to pull his own hair out or strangle anyone.

Surprisingly, Arthur didn't. Once his tea was ready, he just took it from the counter and carried it to a table at the far end of the café, pulling a book from his tote bag (which was the ugliest shade of green Sigurður had ever seen) and busying himself with reading. Sigurður watched his movements perplexedly, frowning, feeling slightly jilted, but quickly reassured himself that he was not at all disappointed. He just shot the occasional glance over at the Englishman to make sure that the other wouldn't get up and try to talk to him. Because that sort of thing requires constant monitoring.

At ten minutes to closing, Arthur still sat in the same place, seemingly engrossed in his book.

"It's about time to lock up," Tino commented, following Sigurður's gaze to the seated man. "I'll give him a heads-up—"

"No, I got it," Sigurður cut him off.

"Ah—" Tino blinked as Sigurður began marching off in Arthur's direction, but figured that it probably wasn't any of his business. "Okay, if you say so."

Sigurður stood over Arthur with his arms crossed, and, in the most benevolent manner possible, said, "Hey, you. We're closing now."

He pursed his lips when Arthur finally looked up from the page, to the Icelander, then back down to his watch. "Oh—right," he closed the book, which Sigurður could now see was a copy of _Crime and Punishment_. "I guess I'll be going, then." Then he slid the book into his ugly tote bag and left.

Sigurður stared after the swinging glass door, strangely feeling even more frustrated than before. He looked down, noticing the coffee cup that Arthur had forgotten to discard. "Asshole didn't even say 'good night,'" he muttered to himself as he picked up the cup, and felt something like paper brush against his fingers. Curious, he rotated the cup, finding a small note taped to the surface.

Frowning, he pulled the piece of paper off, trying to read the small handwriting that had been, undoubtedly, left by Arthur. "_But at the same moment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into her eyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything and that at last the moment had come."_

His frown deepened. What the hell did that even mean? Surely Arthur didn't expect him to come to the miraculous realization that he had been in love with the Englishman all along.

In spite of his better judgment, he folded the note and tucked it into his pocket, if only for further study later on.

The routine continued for a month. Arthur would always come to the coffee shop on Wednesday and Friday evenings, just in time for Sigurður's shift, and he would order tea and then sit down at an open table to read. Sigurður would always shoo him away before closing time, and he would always discover a note taped to the cup.

The second time Arthur was there, he ordered Chai and carried with him _Jane Eyre_. The note that day read: "_You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment."_

The third time he was there, he ordered Oolong and sat down with one of the _Harry Potter _books. The note he left only bore five words: "_After all this time?_" "_Always._"

The fourth time he was there, he ordered Jasmine and pulled out _The Great Gatsby_. The paper that day was filled from top to bottom: "_It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to face—the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey._"

The fifth time he was there, he ordered Chamomile and had his nose buried in a poetry book. He jotted down a 9-line excerpt: "_Some say the world will end in fire / Some say in ice. / From what / I've tasted of desire / I hold with those who favor fire. / But if it had to perish twice, / I think I know enough of hate / To say that for destruction ice / Is also great / And would suffice."_

The sixth time he was there, he ordered Peppermint and brought along _1984_. Sigurður doubted that Arthur could find a quote to leave from that book, but he was met with a note all the same. Arthur had scribbled: _"She said you were a Mr. Hottieness. And that she would like to go out with you for texting and scones." _Sigurður had to choke back his laughter. That one had been in terrible taste, but he pocketed it anyway.

The seventh time Arthur was there, it was raining. He came in, shook off his umbrella, ordered a Rosemary and sat in the corner table with _Game of Thrones _in hand. The café was empty that evening, probably due to the weather, and so Alfred had taken off early against everyone else's protests. Sigurður spent the time at one of the empty tables, trying not to stare at Arthur.

Tino tapped him on the shoulder. "Do you mind cleaning up?" he asked. "I think I forgot to feed Hanatamago before I left."

"Oh, sure..." Sigurður answered. It wasn't as though he had much to do that night anyway, and since the coffee shop had been relatively deserted the entire day, he didn't think he'd have that much work to do.

It wasn't until Tino had been gone for at least ten minutes that he realized he'd been set up. The realization made sitting at a table five meters away from Arthur all the more awkward.

Quickly, he stood up and strode over to Arthur, trying to dissipate a tension that (probably only) he felt. "We-we're closing now, so—"

The words came out more strained than usual, so he was glad when Arthur simply put his book away and made no mention of the strangely-pitched request. Wordlessly, Arthur grabbed his tote bag (which still drove Sigurður insane), retrieved his umbrella, and pulled open the door.

"Uh, hey—" Sigurður began, but clamped his mouth shut and shook his head when Arthur looked back at him inquisitively. Obstinately, he shook off the feeling of disappointment that washed over him when the Englishman exited the shop.

He felt like such a coward. It wasn't as though he _didn't _like Arthur. He just didn't like to _look like _he liked Arthur, which was annoying as hell because Arthur had already made it plenty clear that he was interested in Sigurður. He made a frustrated the noise, snatching the cup off the table. Purely out of habit, he tore off the note and skimmed the words. His heart jumped.

Instead of the regular, literary quotes Arthur left, what the other had written that day was curt. It read, simply: "_Saturday. 14:00. In front of the English building_."

Sigurður threw off his apron and finished his chores as quickly as possible, then dashed out of the building, wondering if he could still catch up with Arthur. To his surprise, he discovered the other waiting for him outside, leaning against the brick wall of the shop.

"You were waiting?" he asked.

Arthur hesitated, running a hand over his mouth. "Yeah," he answered. "I—er—" He cast Sigurður a glance. "You don't have an umbrella, do you?"

"What?" Sigurður asked, slightly puzzled, then remembered the rain. "Oh, yeah, shit." He was going to have a hell of a time walking back to the dorms in that weather. "I mean, no, I don't have an umbrella."

A small pause, then, "I can walk you back, if you'd like."

Sigurður blinked at the other. "Sure... That'd be... nice."

Arthur offered him a small grin and opened the umbrella. Sigurður forced himself to calm down and stepped under it, next to Arthur.

The first few minutes of their walk passed in silence with only the sounds of their footsteps and the rain hitting the umbrella. Which was completely the opposite of productive. So Sigurður sucked in a breath and asked, "So what kind of books do you like to read anyway?" Thinking that it'd be a strange question to ask out of the blue, he quickly added, "You just read all sorts, you know? _Jane Eyre, Great Gatsby, Harry Potter, Game of Thrones_... What genres your favorite?" No sooner than he finished did he feel incredibly stupid. Maybe he should've brought up something that would make him feel smarter. Like... philosophy, or something.

"I enjoy all sorts," Arthur answered, just as Sigurður was feeling bad for himself. The Icelander risked a glance at Arthur to find the other smiling at him quite genially. He turned away and hoped that the fading light would do well to hide his blush. "I love fantasy books, and science fiction. The best are mystery novels though—personally, I'm a big fan of the _Sherlock Holmes_ series." A pause, then he said, almost as if in an afterthought, "I'm not too fond of classics, though—romance, that is—but I think they're necessary for a good foundation in the basics of literature."

"I see..." Sigurður answered, risking another glance at Arthur. "You're an English major then?"

Arthur nodded in response. "I guess it's kind of obvious when it comes down to it. What about you?" he asked as Sigurður lead them around the corner. "Do you have any plans?"

Sigurður hesitated. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "I thought I'd like to try biology at first, but..." He shrugged. He found that he was interested in a couple of other subjects as well, which complicated matters somewhat. "I've got until next year to decide, anyway. My brother seems to think that I'll become a lawyer or something."

He said this somewhat spitefully, so he was surprised when Arthur laughed. He frowned at the other. "It's not that funny," he said. "He's really good at pressuring me, you know."

"Sorry, sorry," Arthur replied. "It just shows that you're still young, when you still try to please your family."

Sigurður cast him an irritated look. Arthur didn't notice, continuing, "When you get a bit older, you realize that there isn't much they can do about your future anyway, so you might as well just do what you want. They're going to have to deal with it unless they plan on disowning you."

A pause as Sigurður considered Arthur's words. It wasn't as though he was _wrong_, exactly, but... "You must've been a real problem child," he huffed.

Instead of answering him, which was slightly worrisome, Arthur stopped in front of a tall brick building. "This is the freshmen dorm, right?"

Sigurður blinked, peering through the rain at the structure. "Oh—uh—yeah." He'd had been so engrossed in the conversation he hadn't noticed that they'd arrived. He flushed, feeling very much like a child with his first crush. Stupid, stupid. He didn't even like Arthur thatmuch.

"I guess I'm going to get going then," he said with a glance at Arthur. "Thanks for bringing me back."

He grabbed his own bookbag tight, then ducked his head and dashed through the rain.

"Wait!" he heard Arthur call after him. "What about Saturday—"

"'Bye!" Sigurður insisted, pulling the door open then slamming it shut behind him. He leaned against it, hair dampened by the rain, feeling slightly giddy as though he'd just won a prize. Yet, he was aware that Arthur was still outside, and so he quickly pushed himself away and continued to his room, hurrying up the stairs, and clamping a hand over his mouth, hoping that no one would catch him smiling like an idiot.

(Later, when Arthur got back to the rented apartment he shared with his _très _annoying roommate, he would pull out _Game of Thrones_ again with the intent of finishing it. The movement would bring a small piece of paper floating to the ground, which he would recognize as the note he'd left Sigurður that day, and he would turn it over to find a single word written on the back:

"_Yes_")


End file.
